►S 3525 
f^l434 



18 ^"^ 



918 
opy 1 




OUT OF DOORS 

By- 

JOHN RUSSELL McCARTHY 



^^^ 



2^. 

*JBfi 




BoolAj-4-^4^? 



mm 



laii 



CDEffilGHT DEPOSffi 



OUT-OF-DOORS 



OUT-OF-DOORS 



By 
JOHN RUSSELL MoCARTHY 




NEW YORK 

JAMES T. WHITE & CO.. 

1918 



,• -?•/-*. ,- ■? 



-v 



J u 



t 
c < 



COPYRIGHTED leiB BY 
JAMES T. WHITE ft CO 



*g)CI.A51l5V0 



CONTENTS 
JUNE 8 

WILD ROSE 9 

PINE lO 

GOLDENROD II 

ARBUTUS 12 

THE LITTLE BROOK I3 

DAISIES 13 

SILKWEED 14 

MOSS PINK 16 

DANDELION 17 

BLOODROOT 18 

POISON-IVY 19 

BEECH 20 

THE MAPLE IN WINTER 22 

HO, DANCERS ! 24 

THE FROZEN RIVER 25 

BURGEONINGS 27 

THE BRIDE 28 



CONTENTS— (Continued) 

MAIDENS TWELVE 29 

LAUREL BLOOM AND LEAF 3I 

SUNFLOWER 32 

COLUMBINE , 33 

VIOLET 34 

TRUMPET-CREEPER 34 

YELLOW WATER LILY 35 

TO THE HONEY-BEE 36 

SNAKE 37 

LILY OF THE VALLEY 38 

COME, DREAMERS 39 

THE MASTER TOUCH 40 

PAGAN 41 

YOUTH 43 

WHAT LOVE CAN DO? 44 

WHEN DAISY DANCED 46 

JEWEL WEED 47 

THE PROUD FAREWELL 48 



OUT-OF-DOORS 



JUNE 

Yon dragonfly is friends ivith me, 
And by my dingle goes 
The solemn, priestly bumble-hee, 
That marries rose to rose. 

My book? In sooth I'm using it 
To pilloiv up my head; 
This day-lay is a brighter bit 
Than any I have read. 

My pipe and I are company. 
{The cat-bird thinks it queer 
That I should burn so carelessly — 
Note noiv his call and leer.) 

All morning-time, from dawn till noon, 
I fished and mused and fished; 
One luee-est bite had I for boon; 
'Tiuas all the boon I wished. 

I roam in eye-reach many a mile. 
In fancy further roam; 
The hours like fairy smiles beguile 
My heart to my heart's home. 

Yon <veery is great friends with me. 
And by my hollow goes 
The grumbling, mumbling bumble-bee, 
That weds red rose to rose. 

8 



WILD ROSE 

WHEN she is just sixteen, and you and she 
Have had your swim at dawn, and then to- 
gether 
Have walked an hour over open fields, 
Chattering like the blue-birds at their breakfast, 
And then have stopped before the little door. 
That talks to you of eggs and good crisp bacon — 
Have stopped before the door, and glanced again 
Back over the smiling lake and over the fields — 
And then when you half turn, and see her eyes — 
You have the mood then, when you see her eyes — 
And see her firm cheeks with their morning pink — 
The wild rose has no secret from you then. 



PINE 

YOU must have dreamed a little every year 
For fifty years; you must have been a child, 
Shy and diffident with the violets, 
School-girlish with the daisies, or perhaps 
A youthful Indian with the hickory tree; 
You must have been a lover with the beech, 
A wise young father walking with your sons 
Beneath the maple; then have battled long 
Grim and defiant with the oak — all these 
You must have been for fifty dreaming years 
Before you may hold converse with the pine. 

And then, maybe, if you have dreamed enough, 
If there are strange old terrors in your eyes 
And wild new fancies singing prophecies, 
You may bring tribute to the king of dreams; 
And he will read your eyes' weird mysteries. 
And give you stranger terrors for your own. 
And chant you wilder fancies — 'till j^ou know 
The vague old magic of the haunted wood. 



10 



GOLDENROD 

HEIGH-HO! the proud battalions 
That tread the gleaming hill; 
That muster for the Sun, their king, 
To do his flaming will. 

With golden pennants streaming, 
With myriad brazen spears. 
They drive the fleeing summer 
Over the fallen years. 



11 



ARBUTUS 

YOU do forgive your enemies — 
At times — 
Just for an hour, perhaps, 
Upon the hills 
In the day's forenoon, 
In the year's waking-time. 
Your eyes are like wood-things 
Loving life; 

Your body is singing a song, 
The song of forgiveness; 
Your soul raises her hands 
In benediction; 
Just for an hour, perhaps. 
You do forgive your enemies. 
Your heart, if you ask it, will tell you why. 
In the waking-time of the year 
The Mother dreams one little last dream, 
And smiles — 
And her smile is 
Arbutus. 



12 



DAISIES 

A HAPPY summer picnic; 
A hundred little girls, 
White frocks and yellow sashes 
Making gay the fields. 



THE LITTLE BROOK 

'ipHE little brook is calling now 
•*- Like love, when love is gay, 
And she has clad her as a bride 
Is clad in merry May. 
Oh! every bush a bridesmaid is 
With radiant cheek today. 

And she has found a choir rare 
That sings the livelong day; 
And every song's a wedding song 
In all her winding way. 
The little brook is calling now 
Like love, when love is gay. 



/ 



13 



SILKWEED 

YOU hold your head so very high 
There must be something you dislike; 
And even when you die you try 
To spear that something with a spike. 

Perhaps it is the thistle-plant 
That grows beside you on the hill; 
Perhaps you hate the vulgar ant 
Who labors where you stand so still. 

But, Silkweed, though you hate the place 
Where you are growing in your pride, 
The fault I think is in your race, 
And not in those that you deride. 

For look you how at mating-time 
You smile and flirt with every breeze, 
And hold your mating-favors forth 
For any little wind to seize. 

And every little gust that blows 
May tarry for his will of you — 
He drops your favors where he goes 
As passing lovers always do. 

14 



For anyone who has a bride 
Must have her for himself alone; 
No man nor wind has any pride 
In what is not his very own. 



15 



MOSS PINK 

MY love shall dance in satins 
And silks and laces rare; 
My love shall ride in velvets 
And furs of fox and vair; 
But when my love is sleeping 
(Who is so sweet asleep) 
Then you, Moss Pink, shall cover hei, 
A fairy band who creep, 
(A flower-raiment meet for her) 
From her wee silken toes 
To her fair head — and covering 
Such beauties as God knows. 



16 



DANDELION 

A LITTLE yellow poet 
With just one book of songs- 
White songs, airy things 
That float upon the wind. 

O, little yellow poet, 
How is it you can dream 
A thousand fairy lyrics, 
And sing them as you die? 



M 



BLOODROOT 

PRIM little maiden, oiT to bed 
Before the day is over, 
Have you a fear in your fair head 
Of some gay midnight rover? 

Ho! little virgin, stay awake 
Tonight — the stars are calling; 
Be gay with us for pleasure's sake, 
Nor fear of ill befalling. 

And when you've sipped the wine of night, 
And flirted with Orion, 

And known the temptress moon's delight, 
And kissed the mighty Lion, 

Then, knowing well your maiden lure, 
You'll live your whole life over. 
The white delightful paramour 
Of some gay midnight rover. 



18 



POISON-IVY 

MISS IVY, in your gown of green, 
Disdain and prettiness you mix; 
But still you shouldn't teach your tricks 
To little girls of seventeen. 

You lure a man to fondle you, 
And then you cut him, till it stings. 
I wish you wouldn't teach these things 
To little girls of twenty-two. 

But if this teaching must be done, 
Why don't you wait a little while. 
And teach your fascinating wile 
To little girls of thirty-one? 



19 



BEECK 

YOU had a thought then that it was your knife 
The old beech welcomed, when he beckoned you? 

You thought the beech's memory lay between 

The weather-layer and the cambium? 

You thought (come, let's be frank now, I thought 
too) 

That four initials and a heart were all, 

Carved with vast care and small white hands assist- 
ing — 

Were all the old recorder of vows could wish. 

Well, some day, when your girl is at a tea, 

Or getting her hope-chest full of useful things. 

Try walking out to where the old beech is. 

And lie there near him, say from four to six. 

And hear him telling stories to the wind — 

Fine healthy stories, with red blood running through, 

With what our wise reporters call a "punch," 

Of how he lured, in the old unharried days. 

The swift shy maid that feared the hunter's tread, 

The dark wild maid that feared a youth, but feared 

Her own heart more, that longed and dreamed, yet 

fled; 
Of how he lured the maid beneath his boughs. 
And stilled her heart with wonderful new dreams. 
And spun the web of love about her eyes — 

20 



The web that blurs with brightness — so that she, 
Waking and finding the hunter at her feet, 
Smiled with high understanding, and reached forth 
Two slim brown arms. (Why does the whisper 
cease?) 

Ah! but the beech is cautious, you will find, 
And is an artist knowing the certain line 
Between too little telling, and too much. 

The old recorder of vows has memory, 
In far recesses the knife will never reach; 
And he and the wind, that fickle troubadour, 
Will tell your own tale to some undreamed race. 



21 



THE MAPLE IN WINTER 

HOW you are frowning, Student, how you stare 
With cold unseeing look upon the worldJ 
A man would think you delving in debased 
Forgotten lore, a cosmic heretic, 
Who seeks new sins and old rejected lusts — 
So sullen and forbidding there you stand, 
With no fine secret for the passing sage, 
With no soft voice of music for the maid, 
Who walks unnoticed over your silent roots. 



Would you deceive us, Student, with your grey 

And wrinkled frown, and strange unseeing stare? 

But no, it is the little joke you have 

For every winter — every study time. 

A few more weeks, and all the lore you stored, 

And all the dreams you dreamed through the cold 

nights — 
The glowing fantasies that wrought themselves 
Out of the red sun and the ghostly snow, 
All curious things that you have studied long — 
You'll publish in your April page of green. 
And many's the bird will sing the lyric song 
That you are weaving, in your own bright tune. 

22 



And, Student, like the artist that you are, 
After your months of toil apart, alone, 
You'll publish all your April page of green. 
And hold it forth for all the world to see, 
Nor care if the world should read it or pass by. 



Z'6 



HO, DANCERS! 

HO, dancers! in your silken hose 
And evening dress and all, 
So deftly stepping on the toes 
Of others at the ball, 
How can you heed Terpsichore, 
When sounds the skaters' call? 
How can you grin and enter in 
The glaring perfumed hall, 
When on the lake the skaters make 
Such rythmic music sweet, 
That all the stars and moons and things 
Go wishing they had feet? 

The swallows fain would hock their wings 

To purchase gliders neat. 

And even boats go sailing on 

A set of skates complete. 

Ho, dancers! drop your silks, and don 

The swift and gleaming skate. 

And roll to music that the winds 

Are singing soon and late; 

Go forth in graceful curlicues, 

Or glide in haughty state — 

Ho, dancers! doff the satin shoes, 

And do the "figure eight"! 

24 



THE FROZEN RIVER 

HiML! vanquished river, grey and silent and bound! 
So you are chained at last, and all is over. 
You dare not murmer under the victor's lash; 
And I, at whom you laughed so ruggedly 
A few months since, go gliding over you 
On glimmering steel, King Winter's sign and symbol 
Of victory. 

What Ho! defeated stream! 
A rumble comes like thunder down your bed. 
As lightning rips an oak so drives your bolt 
In mighty fissures through the binding ice. 

What thunder-laugh is this? What splendid jest? 
A giant waking hugely from a dream? 

But no, my River! Shall we tell the tale? 

'Tis summer's waking heart that welcomes March. 

And you, remembering April's green and May's 

Purple and white and pink, and June's delight, 

Break forth again in battle. You shall drive. 

With March at your right flank, through winter's 

hordes, 
And tearing, shattering, drive your enemy 
Broken and routed down into the sea, 
Until, a victor, worthy at last of peace, 

25 



The merry music of your summer laugh 
Will play in tune with April's green and May's 
Purple and white and pink, and June's delight, 
Till August find you reigning on your throne. 
With southern winds for fans upon your waves 
And flower-censors making sweet the air. 



26 



BURGEONINGS 

YOUNG April wove a filmy veil 
Of little clouds God gave to her, 
Till her sweet breasts, that were so fair, 
Life half remembered dream-things were. 

One day (and bold and proud was he) 

The sun looked down where April lay, 

And saw the vague sweet dream-things there. 

And tore the filmy veil away. 

The little clouds God gave to hef 
To make her veil, he tore away; 
And, startled, April blushed, and fled — 
She fled into the arms of May. 



21 



THE BRIDE 

VEILED with the lace of April, 
Clad in the silks of May, 
The bride is led with fairy tread 
To meet the Lord of Day. 

Out of the south she dances, 
Wind-maidens at her side — 
'Tis good to see how merrily 
The}^ bring the fairy bride. 

Now with a smile and curtsey 

She greets her Lord, the Sun — 

And none shall know the waj^s they go 

Until their night is done. 



28 



MAIDENS TWELVE 

IN a merry little vale — 
Gathered by a sunny brook 
Where the willows make a nook 
Fairer than the fabled dale, 
Where high Jove and Venus strayed — 
Gathered by a sunny stream 
(As I saw it in my dream) 
Twelve fair maidens laughed and played. 

Twelve fair maids, and never one 
But had beauty all her own — 
But was decked to grace a throne, 

High or low beneath the sun; 

Each a new rare ripple threw 

From her lips in laughter sweet, 
When her winsome mirth would greet 

Airy sallies strange and new. 

Do you ask the maidens' names? — 

How they came to gather there? 

Why a dozen maidens fair 
Laughed and sang at girlish games? 
Never mortal maids were they; 

Each a goddess fine and free, 

Spirit of a month that we, 
Happy mortals, while away. 

29 



There they gathered but to choose 

Which should be their sceptered queen, 
Which should sit with laughing mien, 

Clad in iridescent dews, 

On the high throne of the year. 
Holding in her fairy hand — 
Symbol of the merry band — 

Golden wand and crystal sphere. 

Gracefully and blithe they rose — 
All save one who sang apart; 
Like a song from out the heart 

Came their voices as they chose — 

Chose to rule the sun and moon 

From the high throne of the year, 
Holding fair the wand and sphere — 

Chose for queen the bright-eyed June. 



30 



LAUREL BLOOM AND LEAF 

THE Sultan very likely is away, 
And all the harem's smiling and at play. 
Bewitching laurel ladies, are you ^ay 
For freedom's sake, upon this happy day? 

And now the Sultan's gone, would you refuse 
A stranger knight, however sweet he woos? 
But see! fair ladies, you can never choose 
Your lover, or your lover you will lose. 

The Sultan (bless him) is too very wise 

To leave unguarded such delightful eyes. 

A hundred guards about the palace rise — 

Five score damned eunuchs in their green disguise. 



31 



SUNFLOWER 

HOW now, proud flaming woman! 
Again you go to woo 
The mighty sun-god that you love 
And seek the whole day through. 

How by your love unholy 
(Who know not how to hide) 
You make the sun-god flee from you 
And from your flaunting pride! 

You seek him while another 
(Perchance anemone) 
Is sought beneath her robe of leaves 
The sun-god's bride to be. 



?>2 



COLUMBINE 

TO fight a thousand thousand years, 
And then be stricken and broken and old, 
And fear the winds with bitter fears^ 
And hide from frost and rain and mould — 
This is the old rock's history. 

To find a nurse with maid-red lips 
And gentle touch and girlish laugh, 
Holding the chalice while he sips 
The cool clear wine the victors quafif — 
This is the old rock's mystery. 



33 



VIOLET \ 

A LITTLE maid of three 
Is thanking you 
For her first party. 
She has had so good a time, 
She could cry or laugh 
On the instant — 
Such a strange little smile, 
Such an odd little curtsey, 
Such a quaint little maid. 



TRUMPET-CREEPER 

BE bold! Be bold! My scarlet King, 
Invade and rob and slay! 
And to Pan's high smooth altar bring 
Your blood-red torch today. 



34 



YELLOW WATER LILY 

GOLDENHEAD, 
Did you beckon to me? 
Is there anything sad 
Or happy or gay 
That you wanted to say? 
Did you whisper just then? 
Please say it again. 
A little bit louder — 
Please shout it, my dear, 
For I cannot come near; 
You smell a bit bad, 
Goldenhead. 



35 



TO THE HONEY-BEE 

POOR desolate betrayer of Pan's trust, 
Who turned from mating and the sweets thereof, 
To make of labor an eternal lust, 
And with pale thrift destroy the red of love, 
The curse of Pan has sworn your destiny. 
Unloving, unbeloved, you go your way 
Toiling forever, and unwittingly 
You bear love's precious burden every day 
From flower to flower (for your blasphemy) 
Poor eunuch, making flower lovers gay. 



35 



SNAKE 

T3OOR unpardonable length, 
-*• All belly to the mouth, 
Writhe then, and wriggle. 
If there's joy in it! 

My heel, at least, shall spare you. 

A little sun on a stone, 

A mouse or two, 

And all that unreasonable belly 

Is happy. 

No wonder God wasn't satisfied — 
And went on creating. 



Zl 



LILY OF THE VALLEY 

AND so you are hanging your head again, 
A little ashamed, perhaps? 
Embarrassed by all these passing men, 
These loud-guffawing chaps? 

I'll bet that it isn't shyness nor shame 
That makes you hang your head; 
You're all dressed up for a lady's game, 
And you want to be young instead. 

You're weary of white and white and white, 
And long silk stockings of green. 
You want to be dirty and happy tonight; 
You're tired of being clean. 

You want to go roll in the glorious mud. 

You want to go play in the sand. 

You want to go fighting and scratching for blood. 

You poor little lily-white band! 



38 



COME, DREAMERS 

COME, dreamers, Elm and Beech and Pine, 
That stand so saintly still — 
Now very April flows in wine; 
Come forth, my friends! to laugh and dine 
Like gods upon the hill. 

Now very April flows in wine 
From out her snow-white flask; 
The sun sets forth his sovereign sign, 
And youth again is yours and mine— 
(What more could mortal ask?) 

Your dreams unto the dead resign — 

'Tis spring's own winds that blow; 

Come forth, my friends! to laugh and dine, 

For very April flows in wine 

From out her flask of snow. 



39 



THE MASTER TOUCH 

"OUT yesterday we trod a way, 
-*--' A wee way, I with you; 
No lover I, should I descry 
Grey was the sky — not blue. 

\ 
And yet today, when sun-smiles play, 
When sun-fays play o'er you, 
No lover I, should I deny 
Sun-genii their due! 



4i) 



Y 



PAGAN 
ES" 



There shall be a setting meet, beloved. 
I know a place — a lake, as clear as dew 
The fairies sip, with guardian mountains, bold 
And beautiful as freedom, forest-mantled, 
Every tree a lyre and every wind 
A song. And there the peace of noonday seems 
The peace of your strange eyes; and there the storms 
Of noonday darken, threaten, drive and break. 
And match the storms of j'-our strange eyes, my love; 
And there the peace of midnight stills the soul, 
And seems the very peace of your wild heart; 
And there the storms of midnight drive men mad, 
And match the pagan tumult of your heart. 



Beloved, only such a place is meet! 

And I shall know the wonder of you there. 



There, hand in hand, against the misting dawn, 

At Pan's own altar by the forest's edge. 

We two will kneel together at the brim 

And take the Great God's blessing — then the plunge — 

Baptized by Pan himself in his own lake. 

41 



And I will be too happy then, my love, 

And climb for very joy upon the bank, 

And lie and watch you gladden the waters all. 

Then you will leave the envious blue, my love, 

And with firm steps and naiad head held high. 

Pan's daughter, proud, clean-limbed and slim and 

white, 
With round sweet breasts and red and waiting lips, 
Will come to me beneath the old grey beach — 
And I shall know the wonder of you there. 



42 



T 



YOUTH 

^HERE'S a spirit bends the maple, makes it 
beckon like a hand, 
Makes it murmur in a language that my heart can 

understand; 
They will sing their song together — April's spirit 

and my heart — 
Out beyond the merry foothills, v/here the giant 

mountains start. 

There's a yellow on the highroad that is gold enough 

for me, 
And the wine of April's showers is as clear as it is 

free, 
See it sparkle in the sunshine! And beyond the 

breathing hills 
Lies the prize of hope and striving — youth demands 

and life fulfills. 



43 



WHAT CAN LOVE DO? 

THOUGH he be little in his hate 
What can love do but make him great? 

In seven years a man can do 

A lot of hating; through and through 

The acid eats into the bone. 

(Can seven and seventy years atone?) 

For I have hated seven years 
With anger slow and bitter tears, 
With hate that grew since it began 
Until it ivas the hated man. 

And I have housed it in my brain 
And in my heart the hate has lain, 
And in my bone and in my blood 
Has lived and burned the angry flood. 

Dead brain and heart and blood and bone! 
(Could seven and seventy years atone?) 

No hate so low, no man so mean 
But love can purge his being clean. 

For I have learned this very day 
The blaze that burns all hate away; 
And learned from two clear burning eyes: 
'Tis love that lives and hate that dies. 



44 



There is no room now in my brain, 
Nor in my heart where it had lain, 
Nor in my bone nor in my blood — 
No room now for that angry flood. 

And I can meet the morning sun 

And know the day's small battles won; 

Or see him flaming in the west. 

With love and peace within my breast. 

Though he be little in his hate 

What can love do but make him great? 



45 



WHEN DAISY DANCED 

WHEN Daisy danced in April 
My heart went dancing too, 
For there's a lilt in April — 
A stirring song in April, 
Like sunlight on the dew. 
When Daisy danced in April 
My heart went dancing too. 

The young thrush paused to listen 

When Daisy sang in May. 

The brooklet stayed to listen, 

The wind leaned close to listen, 

And lulled its sweetest lay. 

The young thrush paused to listen 

When Daisy sang in May. 

And merrily laughed the roses 
When Daisy wed in June, 
For there's a soul in roses — 
White roses and red roses, 
Or under the sun or moon. 
Oh! merrily laughed the roses 
When Daisy wed in June. 



46 



JEWEL WEED 

SO you were there in hiding all the day 
When maiden April, smiling through her tears, 
Came clad for dancing in the gown of May. 

You heard the singing that the bluebird hears, 
And knew the tints that made the meadows gay, 
And helped to weave the young dreams of the years. 

You must have dozed a little, where you stood, 
And dreamed new dreams of daintier golden hues, 
Till now, when all your radiant sisterhood 
Have danced away to fields the angels use. 
Your dreams break forth to jewels through the wood, 
And April smiles through tears of Autumn dews. 



47 



THE PROUD FAREWELL 

MY Summer, over wood and dell, 
How fervent is your parting cry! 
Ho! such a splendid, proud farewell! 
Such radiant goodby! 
You flare a triumph in your spell, 
You sing a battle song — and die. 

Your own right royal aster knows 
A purple dreamed by little kings; 
Your goldenrod is gay, and glows 
Bright with the golden song she sings; 
Your wanton sumac dares the snows — 
A scarlet sacrifice she brings. 

With death, my Summer, your hills are gay, 
And bright with death your wood and mead; 
With splendid pride you go your way. 
The sun himself your battle-steed. 

— Perhaps your glorious array 
Is just the raiment that you need 
Where you are going. Summer, say. 
To what strange kingdom do you speed? 



48 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



015 909 198 3 



y 



